


Royal Punishment

by jbae654



Category: Dragonball, Vegebul - Fandom
Genre: Dom / Sub, Dubious Consent, F/M, Read at Your Own Risk, i don't even know what happened, morally questionable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2021-04-13
Packaged: 2021-04-20 17:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21992119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbae654/pseuds/jbae654
Summary: Bulma is an alient technology servant on Vegetasei.After one of multiple attempts to escape Prince Vegeta decides to personally deliver some punishment.Porn with minor plot - questionable consent - morally pretty messed up - lot's of triggers' - sorta dom / sub relationship read at your own risk.
Relationships: VegeBul - Relationship, Vegeta x Bulma - Relationship
Comments: 146
Kudos: 380





	1. Chapter 1

She stood tall, her head held high. Whatever her punishment was going to be she would take it in stride. Bulma Briefs didn’t break. She didn’t apologize. Never, under any circumstances, would she bow to the Saiyan rule, to the mockery her life had become, the slave they tried to reduce her to. They would always fail. 

She ignored the racing of her own heart telling her that this time was different. It wasn’t the first time she tried to escape the empire, not her first time being punished, but usually, punishment for desertion was carried out in public, a warning to all that dreamed of freedom. 

This was anything but public. 

The room opulent in riches and exquisite furniture and carpentry, the armor of the guards clean and high in rank, the descending sunbathing them all in soft light. Steps echoed behind her and Bulma forced herself not to look, feigning disinterred. 

“Leave us”. 

His voice dark and assertive, lacking warmth and sympathy and the hairs on the back of her neck raised in alarm. She knew this voice, she knew him. The Prince of all Saiyans. 

A cocky, self-assured asshole that she had the displeasure of meeting only a few fleeting times. Most recently in the lab she worked at, making a special request for training equipment, their interaction had been brief, a sharp reply to a dismissive remark from him was all she had gotten before her supervisor had her escorted away. Nobody disrespected the Prince. 

He was as loathsome as he was handsome - and for the blink of an eye, she had allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to lay with a wild thing like him. All power, control, and freedom wrapped in tan skin and muscles. 

“Imagine my disappointment at being informed the tech working on my assignments had tried to escape” his voice cold and detached,“_again_”. 

She could feel the heat of his body as he rounded on her, she had never been this close to him before, his face cold and impassive. The prince regarded her with disdain, dark eyes scrutinizing her slim form in a way she couldn't place before he stepped back. His armor was pristine and regal, the dark suit wrapping him like a Greek god. 

Without breaking eye contact with her, he snapped his fingers, the sound of footsteps was immediate. A delicate dark-haired female drifted into her field of vision, her eyes turned to the floor and her expression demur. 

She bowed low, “Your Highness”. 

_ Bulma wanted to gag. _

Vegeta didn't acknowledge her, his tail twitched before unwinding from his waist, which was all the indication the servant needed before she started to unbuckle his armor. Movements fluid and graceful as she took off his chest plate, the Prince clicked his teeth as she tried to leave and she returned with jerky movements to remove his gloves, peeling back the top of his suit, stripping him down before removing his boots. 

Bulma's heart was hammering in her chest as she tried to fight the panic creeping up in her, desperately holding Vegeta's gaze, forbidding herself from looking anywhere else, especially _ not there _. 

From her periphery she could see the servant folding the garments, her head bowed even further. She was nervous. 

“Here”. It was an order, not a request, his bare hand pointing to the floor in front of him. The girl obeyed, sinking to the floor without hesitation. 

Bulma's eyes were burning, she was blinking rapidly to force herself from holding his gaze - this was not what she had expected. The panic inside her subsided and she instantly felt bad for being so relieved at another’s misfortune. The servant's head was moving in a rhythmic pattern, yet Vegetas eyes remained on her, cold and uncaring. 

The moments dragged on, and Bulma wondered how long he would be able to hold on to his facade when he dismissed the servant, the girl hurrying past her with fast steps. The scientist's spine straightened and her eyes steel. 

“I scratch and bite” she warned him darkly. 

To her horror Vegeta only smirked, his lips exposing sharp canines and his eyes sparkled with an odd gleam, “you’ll moan and beg too” he promised her, voice suddenly too soft. 

In a flash he was behind her, his nose behind her ear as he inhaled, deep and unashamed, his tail ghosting against the back of her leg. She tried not to squirm. 

“You’ve done this before” his fingers tips ghost over her shoulder, “trying to run away, leaving all of your duties behind”. His tone was still too soft, his breath feathering against her neck as his fingers-tips explored downward towards her lower back. She didn't reply. He was not asking questions. 

“You’ve been punished before too” he continued, now ghosting over an old scar from a whip “but nothing seems to stick. _ Stubborn little thing _”. The words rolled off his lips with glee and Bulma's stomach twisted as she realized he was enjoying this. “I will have to change that”. He was enjoying this game immensely. The control he had, making her body react to his warmth and feather-soft touch. 

His lips grazed the shell of her ear when he spoke again, “Who do you belong to?”

She knew what he wanted to hear. She was an alien technology servant - she belonged to the Saiyan Crown. To the kingdom. “Nobody”. 

His reacting was instantaneous, hand fisting her hair at the nape of her neck, forcing her to arch her back as his tail struck her across her behind, corded muscles leaving a soft sting despite the velvet fur. She gasped. She had never felt a Saiyan tail before. 

“Want to try that again?”

His grip wasn't painful, not yet. “I belong to nobody”. 

She hissed at the sting that followed, he had changed tactics, his tail smacking her between the legs, making her squirm at the odd sensation. A rough tongue licking up the back of her neck as he growled in warning, voice faux-sympathy;

“The more you resist the harsher it will be woman”. 

She gritted her teeth. She wouldn't be broken. 

“I belong to nobody”. 

She yelped at the lash of his tail, her most sensitive parts tingling in its wake, as he clicked his teeth in false disappointment. His canines grazing her neck was the only warning she got before her stomach found the edge of his bed, and he repeated the action from just a few moments ago. Only this time he didn’t stop. 

She tried to squirm, she scratched at his arm across her back, holding her in place, screamed, kicking her legs - doing anything and everything she could to ignore the treacherous throbbing of her flesh to fight his dominance over her.

It the moment she allowed her mind to linger on the building sensitivity when she slipped and cracked “stop..._ please _”. It was a mumble into the sheets, but Vegeta's superior senses pick up on it nonetheless. He stopped immediately. The grip on her loosening, as a large warm hand, rubbed soothingly across the space between her legs. 

“Now”. It was an order. Her chance to try again. 

She was exhausted. Exhausted from fighting him, from her attempted escape, her capture, her interrogation, exhausted from the odd pleasured buzzing of her clit, the soft circles he was rubbing in a false sense of sympathy and comfort - she whimpered into the sheets. 

And like the monster he was Vegeta only chuckled low as he sunk his finger into her, the motion accompanied by a hiss on his part and a low moan on hers.

“Be good for me” his lips grazing her cheek as he leaned over her, “say it”. 

Bulma could only shake her head, holding her breath, preparing for the lash of his tail across sensitive flesh. Instead, an uncontrolled moan escaped her, the Prince having upped his efforts between her legs, fingers now curling against her just right, the buzzing pleasure suddenly soaring to a high she wasn’t prepared for, taking her right to the edge of her orgasm and - _ stopping. _

She was so close to the edge, teeth gritted in determination, confused and conflictingly aroused by this odd punishment, worn down from exhaustion that she blindly clawed at him, anything to fall over the edge, to lose herself in the feeling and forget the world. 

It was a soft tip nudging against her lips that brought her back from desperation, realizing she was not about to get what she wanted, wasn't about to fall over the edge into pure bliss. _ Instead, he was. _

Bulma had never had a Saiyan man before. 

She’s heard the tales though. Best lay in the galaxy if you could handle their grith. Fingers clawing into the sheets as she tried to squirm away, his hand on her hips stopped her, his weight pressing down as he pushed against her small opening. 

Air left her lungs in a hiss, her face scrunched at the pressure as he breached her and the sounds coming from her throat sounded like whimpered mewls. “Such a wet little thing” his voice taunted her, kissing her neck, as he pushed further and she yelped and shuddered. He was too thick. She could feel her small lips stretching and burning around him.

“I can’t hear you” his breathing was ragged, voice still deceptively low, “_ Say. It _”. 

If Bulma was anything it was stubborn. She whimpered and shook her head - moaning as he pushed further again, bringing her to her limit. 

“Tell me who you belong to” the Prince encouraged her.

He had her right where he wanted her, un-moving, at her limit, holding himself still as she struggled below him in vain. She struggled against her own pride and her own pleasure. The hand caressing her face was warm, his breath hot against her cheek as his forehead rested against her temple.

“Use your words”.

_ Bulma met his order with silence. _

His hand molded over her shoulder, grabbing her tight, before driving himself to the hilt. Her whimpers drowned by his other hand that covered her mouth, the only sound Bulma heard was his low groans as he repeated the action, sinking himself into her from tip to base. Her body strained, panic gripping her chest, she couldn’t handle this. Ever observant his pace slowed, stilling inside her, softly rubbing his nose against her cheek.

“Is it too much?” Too weak to respond she merely nodded her head against the sheets, his nose dragging against the side of her face as she repeated the motion, Vegetas chest vibrated with a low chuckle, clicking his teeth in mockery, “You’re going to take all of me. I don’t care if it’s too much.” his pace picked back up, more relentless than before. 

She wailed, unsure if it was mindless bliss or the edge of pain she was ridding, her body as confused as her mind as she tethered on the fine line of pleasure and pain, of enjoyment and punishment. His hand wrapped around her long tresses, angling her head, his lips soft against her temple, each sharp thrust was accompanied by a rough groan as her sensitive nub of pleasure rubbed against the fabric of the sheets. Bulma was nearing the edge, her body betraying her as the tension coiled too tight in her lower abdomen before the coil finally snapped.

Stars swam behind her tightly shut lids and her legs shook, feet trying to find purchase on the slick floors, her mouth opened in a silent breathless cry as the Prince continued his pace between her spread legs, her orgasm dragging out robbing her of precious oxygen and any coherent thought, making her melt bonelessly into the mattress. She was still catching her breath, trying to find her mental footing when a loud slap filled the room, a stinging pain spreading from her ass to the space between her legs where he burned, furthering blood-flow to the already over sensitive flesh. He repeated the action and Bulma couldn't contain the wail that escaped her.

"Hmmm" Vegeta hummed above her, the sound vibrating in his chest, spreading along her bent back, "each time I hit you, you tighten down on me..." his cock twitched at his own words and the scientist struggled against the fog of her own mind, panic and pleasure mingling in the background. 

His words were followed by another blow against the soft flesh of her behind, and then another, and another - till she was screaming, her core throbbing, the coil in her stomach wound so tight that she feared what might happen once it finally snapped, but she had no control, the man towering above her, holding her down, driving into her deep and hard, he controlled everything. The pace, the force of his thrust, the sting of his blows, her pleasure - but she had the key. She could make it stop. All she would have to do was finally uttered what he wanted to hear. All she had to do was surrender. 

Another slap, another deep thrust, her oversensitive clit dragging against the messy sheets, the Princes voice in her ear, encouraging her to say the words, to end her punishment, as the coil snapped, hips arching against her will and the sheets beneath them soaking in a release she never experienced before Bulma cracked;

"You" a sobbed whisper of defeat. 

"Want to say that again?" his pace had slowed immediately, harsh slaps turning into soft caresses against her red and abused flesh as Bulma came down from her high, boneless, exhausted, struggling to find her voice.

"You. I belong to you Vegeta" 

He chuckled, squeezing her hips, "that's _Prince_ Vegeta to you", she nodded, sweat-soaked hair clinging to her skin as he pulled himself closer to her, giving a few more lazy thrusts before spilling himself inside her with a deep growl.

"Prince Vegeta" her voice a croaked whisper into the sheets.

"Good Girl", his breath tickling her neck as he pulled out slowly, she winced at the soreness of her flesh and mewled as his hand took the place of his cock, softly rubbing against her overheated flesh, his voice shushing her sounds, back to the faux sympathy tone she knew so well. 

"No more escapades trying to run away" his teeth grazed her sweaty shoulder, the hand between her legs drawing up slowly, "or next time I will have to punish you differently" at his word his fingers ghosted over the puckered muscle of her behind, slowly circling it for emphasis before drawing away completely as Bulma clenched in fear.

The Prince chuckled and pushed himself off her prone form completely, leaving her cold and shivering at the sudden loss of his heat, "Stay there. Don't move".

An order. His voice was dark and final.

She couldn't have moved even if she had wanted to, even if he had told her to, Bulma was too exhausted, sleep clinging to her senses like sweat to her skin, her muscles aching as if she had just fought for her life. The sheets below her were some of the softest she had felt since her life at Capsule Corp. and her limbs had not yet regained the control Vegeta had whisked out of her hands.

By the time the Prince returned the blue-head was already half asleep, head spinning, sucking her deep into the void of blissful unconsciousness as someone warm and strong dragged her further onto the bed, her toes finally leaving the cold polished floors behind before a large warm hand pushed her legs apart. Bulma jerked at the cold gel before melting into the touch as it warmed to her body with each small circle his hand drew, it felt _ good _ the concoction relieving the aching soreness that had burned her flesh. Without a second thought, she arched into the touch, tilting her hips, raising her red behind covered in his hand-prints, to give him better access. 

His low chuckle and soft mocking voice tickled the flesh of her back, "so eager" the motion of his hand going from soothing to sexual for a short breath before returning to the soft caress that made her want to whimper, "Rest. Don't worry I'm not done with you yet".


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many fucking trigger warnings.  
I'm not joking. Read at your own risk.
> 
> Questionable and fucked up in so many ways.

* * *

She screamed and kicked like a madwoman as they drug her down the halls of the palace. She could have  _ sworn  _ it would work. Freedom had been  _ so  _ close she had almost been able to taste it - but in the last second a much faster ship had caught up with hers, effectively preventing her from jumping into hyper-drive and leaving Vegetasei once and for all.

Bulma knew the doors of his rooms, big and imposing, opulent and oozing of riches. The guard had little patience for her tantrum, dragging her inside and depositing her on the floor like she was an inconvenient bratty toddler he had been assigned to watch. His hand buried into her hair, directing her frantic gaze to a corner of the room - there she stood. The same servant as last time, dark hair, delicate features. Truly Beautiful. The scientist stilled at the sight of the woman and the guard only chuckled, satisfied with having gotten his point across he let go of her hair, without the support Bulma slumped against the polished floor - just in time to see  _ his  _ white boots. 

Prince Vegeta circled her once, a low chuckle accompanying his steps as he crouched low into her field of view, displeasure clear on his face.

"You knew better" his voice cold and detached, eyes pinning her to the cool floors as he pushed himself back to his full height towering above her. "Get up and strip".

Maybe it was madness, but Bulma found herself laughing. This man, this wild thing of sin was not going to break her.  _ Again. _

The air unmistakably hummed with the force of his Ki and she watched as a ball of energy gathered in his palm, arms outstretched toward the young slave whos eyes screamed at her to get up and do as their Prince commanded. Anger rippled underneath her skin as she stood, her movements jerky, throwing her clothing in his direction as she undressed just as Vegeta had commanded. Defiance shining in her blue eyes as she dared him to think that he had won.

The Ki dissipated, his fingers snapped and the girl undressed him as she had done before, a familiar feeling of dread settling into Bulma's bones as she ventured a guess as to what would be next.  _ Only to be wrong.  _ Once naked as the day he was born, bronzed skin glowing in the late day sun the Prince dismissed the servant back to her station along the wall, a cruel and knowing smile suddenly pulling at his lips.

In an instant, he was in front of her, Bulma could barley contain the shriek of surprise as his ungloved hand dove into her blue tresses and yanked her down to her knees in front of him, joints hitting the unforgiving floor as she found herself eye level with his cock already hard and swollen. 

"Fuck you!" her yaw locked on instinct.

Vegeta laughed, gripping her hair with just enough force to graze the edge of painful, tipping her head back to look at him, "I told you - there would be consequences this time" his eyes slid to the dark-haired girl, malice dancing in the dark depths, making his threat clear, voice stern he continued "I suggest you start  _ sucking _ ".

Hands balled into tight fists Bulma opened her mouth, fighting the anger that made her lips tremble with rage as his thick head pushed passed her lips, his grip on her head tightened as he set the rhythm, her eyes squeezing shut as she struggled for air around his cock, fighting instinct to bite down if only to save the slave from the consequences of her actions. 

The worst part was that Bulma knew how good his cock had felt inside of her, how he had made her cum, made her fall apart till she couldn't think anymore. She remembered how he had taken her to the very edge of what she had thought she could handle and had kept her there, rubbing sensitive flesh in soothing circles with the air of false sympathy - she found herself missing just that. 

Rough palms brushed the hair from her face, humming low in his throat approvingly as his tail loosely wound around her neck, "there you go", thumbs brushing the tears from her cheeks that had gathered there as she gaged on his length, their eyes meet and Vegeta smirked like the devil himself, "you are almost pretty with a mouth full of cock".

Vegeta jerked her back just in time to avoid her teeth sinking into the soft skin of his most private parts, gone was the playful attitude from just a few seconds ago as he hauled her onto the bed with enough force to knock the air out of her lungs. By the time Bulma had recovered enough to orient herself again, the dark-haired servant was tying her hands together above her head while the Prince pulled her to the edge of the bed till cool air licked the naked skin of her round behind.

As he stepped between her raised legs panic gripped Bulma's chest, she fought desperately against the restraints, watching in horror as the foreign girl disappeared out the door for good, Vegetas dark promise from their previous encounter clawing at her overactive mind. The weight of his palm settled against her mound while the other pushed her leg further to the side, giving himself more room, his voice was back to the faux sympathy tone and Bulma wanted to cry at the way her body relaxed under it.

"You knew the consequences" his thumb circled her clit once, "say that you deserve it".

His thumb repeated the action, her breath hitching in response, everything was right, the angle, the pressure, the speed - Bulma bit her lip.  _ Holding on to the last thing she had left to give. _

The Saiyan only chuckled, again rolling her bud of pleasure underneath the pad of his thumb, the tip of his cock nudging her lips before two fingers sunk home, immediately curling against her most sensitive spot - Bulma cried out, back arching into his hand against her own will as the cuffs dug into her wrists. 

"You are fucking  _ soaked _ " his voice taunted her, as he leaned over her trapped form, a textured tongue playing with her sensitive nipples as he worked her more vigorously, wet sloppy squelching sounds accompanying each sob that fell from her lips. When he spoke again against her sternum the scientist could feel his voice against her very bones, " _ too bad  _ I won't be using that hole today".

The tip of his member nudged the muscles of her rear as the words left his mouth and Bulma struggled fruitlessly to close her legs as Vegetas chuckle rasped against her neck. She folded.

_ Humiliation over a kind of pain she did not want to experience. _

"I deserve it" stumbling over the words, trying to get him to stop in his tracks.  _ He did _ . Towering back over her he quirked one strong brow at her, arrogance clear on his face as she surrendered again, " _ Prince.  _ I deserve it, Prince Vegeta....but  _ please... _ ". 

His hand closed around her throat as he grinned with victory, his eyes bore into her own as the other hand withdrew from her wet folds to spread her legs wider - repositioning himself and sinking his cock into her spread open folds. The feeling of fullness made Bulma squirm as her body adjusted to him, the burning sensation returning to the junction between her thighs, the man had by far the thickest cock she had ever experienced. 

Grabbing her hip the rhythm he set was instant, rough, hard and deep. She wailed every time his hips connected to her, jostling her on the bed as she arched into his cock. This was pure pleasure - no games, no pain - just the building surge of satisfaction in her low abdomen as she rode the wave, all control having been taken from her. Thick fingers found her clit and worked her in tandem with his thrusts, the pressure spiraling as she came undone below him, pulling at the restraints, sobbing for mercy as he kept fucking her, kept rubbing her oversensitive skin, kept her legs spread - till she shuddered through a second orgasm. Melting into the sheets as sweat clung to her brows and her pussy throbbed with the frantic beat of her heart. 

When he withdrew Bulma only faintly realized that there was no cum running down her ass, no fluid other than her own streaming over her skin, no cutting remarks stinging her pride. Barely able to open her eyes open she saw him lean over her, his lips dragging across her cheek, hot puffs of air feathering against her skin as he spoke in the soothing familiar tone.

"My turn" he hummed, licking the sweat from her temple, "since we both agree you  _ do  _ deserve it".

The gel-like substance was cold against her hot skin and Bulma only distantly realized that she was begging him not to do this, the Prince only shook his head in mock reprimand, coating himself in the viscous liquid before leaning over her again, hand wrapping around her throat, squeezing with alarming force.

"Not a word woman" a hiss against her skin. 

As his tip pressed against the puckered muscles of her rear she ignored his warning, hissing at him in a mix of rage and panic - before wailing at the slap he delivered to the cheek of her ass.

"That wasn't a suggestion - don't make me slap that ass again. Understood?"

The hand around her throat squeezed for emphasis, she nodded and watched his lips twitch in satisfaction, hand traveling down her body to her clit, rubbing small circles as he pushed forward, adding almost in afterthought, "you can wail all you want though".

_ She did _ .

Till her cheeks felt hot and her wrists burned as much as her behind, with each slow thrust forward his fingers circled her clit, tiny shocks of his Ki weaving over her skin there, a small jolt of pleasure accompanying each ripple of pain. By the time his hips sat flush with her own Bulma felt raw and exhausted, breathless as if she had just fought the fight of her life. His stillness and the continued stimulation of her little fleshy nub slowly, against her will, made pleasure build low in her stomach, the palm of his free hand sliding up to cradle her cheek.

His lips felt soft against her own, fighting the depletion that clunk to her bones, his tongue teased her own, voice again the soothing tones of false care and sympathy, "You are going to take this for me".

With that, he pulled back and pushed back in, increasing the force of his circles and his Ki around her clit with each thrust, moaning into her ear with every wail that escaped her till her body betrayed Bulma in the most treacherous way - the stinging edge of pain turned into the most terrible tide of pleasure - until she couldn't discern one from the other. 

"I hate you!".  _ A desperate attempt to save her pride. _

Always a step ahead of her and sensing the shift in her pleasure, Vegeta increased the pace, thrusting into her more roughly, scraping his teeth along her collarbones, moaning against the swell of her tits as his tail pulled her legs apart further. 

The Prince only hummed, chuckling "You don't seem to hate my cock though". 

Bulma moaned and whimpered, arching into his thrusts as best as she could, drinking in the deep growls that vibrated against her chest as she got lost in the dizzying spin of pleasure and pain this man provided. Breathing heavy and desperate she feared at times she would pass out, till the coil in her stomach had wound so tight that tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, spilling across her cheeks as she started to quiver.

Vegeta immediately stilled. The threat in his voice was clear in the manner in which he growled into her ear, " _ Don't...you..fucking..dare". _

Always a rebel she dared. She came right there, without another trust, without another circle over her clit, without any care and against all rules. Her pussy clenched almost painfully around the emptiness his cock had left, muscles seizing and shaking in exertion till she was fighting for breath like a drowning woman. 

Awareness that Vegeta had picked up the pace to punishing levels only floated slowly into her consciousness, but once it reached her brain, she jolted back to reality, screaming at the force with which he pushed into her, punishing her, chasing his own release, till he all but roared - spilling into her.

The warmth that settled in her spread through her body with each nip of his teeth against her sweaty skin, his hand having returned to the spot between her legs, dipping and swirling his finger into her in a playful manner.

"Look how wet getting fucked in the ass makes you" his fingers pressing against her lips, forcing her to taste herself. Bulma only murmured - too boneless to care or put up another fight.

Pulling her further on the bed and releasing her wrists he covered her body with his, slowly pulling out and shifting off the bed only to return moments later, large steady hands gripping her hips and pinning her into place as Bulma felt the sting of a needle against her plump bottom and the spread of something cold- then, finally - relief.  _ Healing shot. _

She whimpered as he rubbed the injection site, massaging the flesh, running his tongue along her spine, as the sound of running water in a different room drifted to her ears. When he picked her up and carried her to the bathroom, submerging them both in the warm liquid, Bulma let him, her head resting heavily against the crock of his neck.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As usual ALL the trigger warnings.  
Seriously.I wrote this in the notes on my phone - basically more porn with some plot cause, yea there will be more.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is NOT love. This is not an attempt to romanticize this kind of shit. This is simply a dark crack fic I keep adding to while questioning my own morals. If you are in a situation in any way similar to anything described - ask for help, get out, be safe.

* * *

She isn’t trying to run away this time around. Instead, she is in the lab working late, attempting to ease her internal agony of being stuck on Vegetasei. There’s no escaping anymore - her movements are monitored, her short track to and from the lab escorted, the watchful eye of the crowns resources always presents. 

That’s why she is unprepared for it to happen. For him to seek her out. All their previous interactions are based on her provoking him, trying to escape his rule, to never have to see him again. 

One moment she is hunched over her workbench, running through calculations and trying her best to ignore the shouts of victory outside. The festivities for yet another planet conquered, another set of resources obtained, another race _ enslaved. _

The next moment she is on the floor with her back pressed against the leg of her workbench, a thick and muscled leg on either side of her, his grip in her hair tight enough to make her eyes water. 

She knows it’s him. There is no other who would challenge to touch what he had deemed his. Since their first encounter men avoided her, nobody dared to lay eyes upon the woman who dared to defy the prince and lived to tell about it. 

By the time the air has returned to her lungs and her eyes have found his own, wild, pupils blown and irises tinged red, standing above her, the Prince has already worked the bottom of his suit over trim hips. The hot tip of him pressing against her lips, the hand in her hair forces her head back as she hears the cry of metal. The workbench bending to his will under his free hand like everything else in this universe. 

_ Not her. Never her. _

Bulma kicks and claws like a madwoman. A woman possessed. A woman with her own mind. A woman once born a queen in her own right.

She’s on unsteady feet, scalp burning before she can form a clear plan out of this mess. This close she notices his sweat-slick skin. He is freshly showered, Bulma can smell the expensive soaps and oils, but the princes' skin is burning up, eyes wild like the animal he is when he leans in an all but snarls into her ear;

“I will disembowel every creature you call a friend”, her journey back to the floor is rough, his hand cupping the back of her head, “don’t make me forget myself”. 

There’s no faux sympathy.

This is not a false game for power. 

His breathing is harsh and ragged, his movements rough and uncontrolled, the groan that rips from his throat as he pushes into her mouth is deep, guttural, and inhuman. The rhythm is unforgiving, her nails digging into his tights as her legs kick - desperately trying to find purchase on anything. His entire body is slick with perspiration and burning to the touch. Much hotter than usual - a temperature at which any human would run an unsurvivable fever. As she is struggling for air around him Bulma realizes this is the first time she fears him. 

_ Truly fears him. _

His stamina doesn’t last nearly as long as their two previous encounters and before she knows it his desperate pace slows. Bulma is coughing as he fills her mouth. Dripping past her lips as his hold on her hair relaxes, her eyes stinging with tears while she is wiping furiously at her mouth. 

The prince is face level with her before her eyes stop watering, bare hands tilting her head with surprising care. 

“Woman. Let me See”. 

It takes her a moment to realize he’s examining her teeth, thumb brushing over her bottom lip, dark eyes scrutinizing, and watchful. The red tint has subsided, but his breathing is still ragged, skin still sleek with wetness. He murmurs as he stands, tucking skin-tight material over his still hard member. 

The moment she notices he hasn’t softened is the moment he picks her up, strong hands grabbing her sides and then the world blurs. 

Her back hitting something soft is the first thing she perceives as her mind desperately tries to orient herself. The sound of ripping fabric is the second sensation she recognizes before her eyes finally focus on the heir to the Saiyan crown. He is naked, muscles ripple under tan skin, his cock pulsing with his frenzied breathing, movements jerky, and eyes bloodshot as he joins her on the bed. _ His bed. _

His hand is on her hip before she can even attempt to crawl away, to try to escape this man that seems to be controlled by an intangible need, an unquenchable thirst. Pieces of her laboratory uniform drop around her like paper as Bulma finds herself on all fours, unforgiving muscles and sweat-slicked skin pressing against her back. For a terrifying moment, she fears he will enter her without any moisture, without any preparation, her fingers twisting in the soft sheets in terror of pain. 

Pain that never comes. Instead his hand, slick with artificial moisture, finds her private folds, thick fingers circling and rubbing as the scientist notices how the muscles of his arms shake and strain. A soft tail winding around her leg and his hand grabbing her hip is the only warning she gets as he starts pushing into her.

She whimpers. He’s thick. _ Swollen _. 

His grip on her hip is like iron as he shakes with the effort to go slow, his forehead resting between her shoulder-blades, the skin there hot from his heated cursing, lips dragging against her skin. As the Prince pushes to the hilt, finally sheathed inside her, leaving her feeling impossibly full, the shaking subsides. 

He groans, long and deep, and appreciative. As if someone just freed him from great pain. 

It’s then that the pieces fall into place for her. The sweat-slick skin, the red eyes, the urgent need and jerky moments, the unnatural throbbing of his cock - she has heard about it before from other captives - the Saiyan Prince panting above and pulsing inside her is in heat.

His nose finds the soft spot behind her ear, breathing deeply in rhythm with his thrusts, his arm wrapping like a vice around her stomach, keeping her in place as he buries himself tip to base each time. Groaning as if the snug grip of her pussy is the only salvation that can save him from anguish. Bulma's back arches on her own accord when the tip of his tail brushes her clit. The delicate flesh already on overload from stretching around him, accommodating him with each roll of his hips into her. It doesn’t take long and she’s keening, skin covered with her own sweat as he strums her along, moaning unabashedly, face pressed into her hair, fucking her right through her peak.

Bulma shudders and bucks, the waves of her orgasms washing over her till she is too sensitive. Moans turning into pleas, pleas that go unanswered as Vegeta continues the rhythm between her legs, continues stroking her till her legs shake, knuckles white as she is gripping the sheets spiraling into a series of releases. 

Her face feels hot, cheeks burning like her skin has been boiled by the sun and she hears him chase his own orgasm, stumbling over the edge of bliss. He’s pulsing inside of her, seed hot even against her own heated flesh, moaning as if she’s milking his soul right out of him. 

The moment of quiet bliss, of panting together, trying to catch their breath is short-lived - his tail shudders, and his hips resume their rhythm, weight pressing down on her till he is all but riding her.

The new angle hits a spot she forgot existed and as he rights himself, sitting up above her, tangling his hand in her tresses Bulma doesn’t care who might hear her as she wails her enjoyment.

The cycle continues, her moaning and whimpering, Vegeta emptying himself inside her with strangled groans, broken words in his native tongue, while working through his heat one release after another only to immediately start anew. _ Deep and throbbing, swollen, and starving. _

It’s during the early hours of the morning when she is so exhausted and sore it is utterly painful that she truly fights him. The beast inside of him responds by throwing her legs over his shoulder and bending her knees to her chest, ravaging her so hard and deep that she grapples to keep her eyes open with each thrust that shakes her. Her orgasm so intense tears escape the corners of her eyes.

The bed shifting is the first thing she senses after it’s all over. She doesn’t know how long she has been asleep, only that her eyelids feel unimaginably heavy and the soreness between her legs demands she never move again. The moment of awareness is followed by silence and she is drifting again, limbs heavy and peaceful in the luxurious sheets. 

When the bed dips a second time it is much closer, her skin breaking out into goosebumps as the covers are pulled from her, exposing sensitive lovebites to cool air. She blinks, the world hazy and the first shape she perceives is his hair. He’s sitting next to her on the bed, large warm hand on her thigh, eyes black like nightfall. 

Bulma squints, once, twice, and then jolts awake as he pulls one of her legs aside. Her body shaking with drained and imploring sobs before her eyes have even caught up to produce tears. 

“No. _ Please _. I can’t ... please Ve-... Prince Vegeta, I cant. Not again I-...”

She breaks off as shushes her, voice stern but not cold “spread them”, and then she feels it - his fingers coated in the cool thick gel that promises to heal - her body relaxing almost immediately. The digits glide across her folds like feathers, the initial contact causing her to whimper before relief washes over her. 

As his hand works between her legs he holds her gaze. Seeping into her very being, sweeping over her face and returning to her eyes, his own face relaxed, hair mused from the hours spend between the sheets. It’s when he dips his fingers into more gel and then carefully inside her that a few tears escape the corner of her eyes, the momentary sting of intrusion before the gel does its magic is too much, his gaze suddenly _ too _intimate. The prince surprises her when he leans over, lips catching the salty drops racing towards her hairline, spreading the gel on the overused walls of her most private parts. 

She can’t tell if it’s the exhaustion or the tender moment of care, but in a desperate need of exhausted affection, she wraps her arms around his neck, bringing his face to the column of her throat. Lips sucking at the sensitive skin there, adding more blues and purples to the marks his mouth has already left on her body, his fingers continue to work the gel into her skin till soreness is but a distant memory. 

When he entangles himself from her, withdrawing his fingers, his thumb takes a moment to play with her clit, the touch feather soft and fleeting, her hips jerking against her will. Holding eye contact with her he sucks the digit clean while smirking at her eagerness. 

The moment feels surreal as she gets up from the over-sized bed, following him to what she by now knows is his luxurious bathroom. Steam is enveloping his body as he sinks into the hot water of the tub, expensive oils tingling her nose as she comfortably settles into the liquid. Overworked muscles being soothed almost immediately. 

“Woman”, his voice is dark and commanding, she hates herself for the anticipation simmering in her stomach, his eyes focus on the rim of the expansive tub just past her shoulder. Following his gaze she finds expensive soaps and a washcloth - his back, covered in red welts her nails have left, settling against her, his expectation clear. 

* * *

_Thank you for reading :) _

_I know I've been inactive for some time - Hiareth hasn't been updated in a year - but please know that I am working on things. 2020 so far has been rough and fast paced as hell for me. But it's slowing down - not a day goes by that I don't think about writing. _

_I am grateful to be a part of this community._

_If you liked it - see you in the comments :D_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh god. I really don't know what possessed me.  
Again - really this is not love. This is fucked up and morally questionable. Wrote this on my phone - please forgive any typos. No "smut" here - just some seriously fucked up psychological warfare.
> 
> Read at your own risk.

* * *

His gloved hand winds around a long strand of blue hair and the tension in her shoulders finally eases. She hates herself for it. She hates even more that she finally feels at peace. 

The past few weeks have been hell. Bulma constantly feels restless, drained even, riding on the edge. The detailed work she used to be assigned to now grinds her nerves and makes her want to scream. She just can’t focus. Can’t center herself. 

But now? Here? In his presence - _ peace _. 

She wants to cry at that. There is no logical reason for her to body to betray her like this. Every encounter with him is based on violence or coercion, on intimidation and authority. Never out of her own free will. She’s not even on this godforsaken planet of her own free mind. 

Today his touch is gentle. As if he didn’t fuck her raw during his heat a few short weeks ago. As if he didn’t use her despite her pleas to give her rest, to stop because she was so horribly sore. Bulma is dressed in the finest fabrics this side of the galaxy - a custom-tailored dress that is fit for royalty. It clings to her curves and the high slits show off smooth skin glowing with expensive oils and creams.

His nose is in the column of her throat inhaling her like a wild and untamed animal, while his muscled thigh is wedged between her legs, making her squirm. 

“You smell fucking divine”. 

Is voice is hoarse, much like when he’s deep inside of her, skin slick with sweat. The memory arouses her more than it should and she fights herself to push it back down. _ Down down down _to draw on her anger instead. 

Some servant had caught her on the way to the canteen for lunch, had brought her to be washed and oiled. Skin smoothed and prepped before being dressed in fabrics as if she were a queen. Like she was a _ doll _. A toy for him to command and use and dress however he liked, whenever he liked. 

The prince himself is dressed in his official attire. Dark suit and red fluttering cape with minimal armor. This is different from her previous punishments and his biology driven need to fuck a warm wet hole for a few straight hours. 

Focusing on her anger, on the injustice of it all, Bulma all but hisses at him “You like what you see your highness?!”.

Being the bastard he is Vegeta only chuckles as if her anger amuses him. As if all of this is just a game to him. She wheezes when his chuckle dies in his throat, his hand fisting her hair at the back of her neck. The force makes her crane her head and she comes face to face with his indifferent gaze. Dark eyes scrutinize her face, study her as if he’s deciding if he actually likes what he sees.

His gaze travels over her thick lashes, the makeup that was applied there, before wandering over her nose to land on her lips. Bulma knows he can see her set her jaw in defiance and determination and at her small display of insubordination the corner of his most pulls into the ghost of a smirk. The angle causes her to bend her back, fabric straining against her breast as his eyes dip low and she feels the wisps of a tail along one of her legs. 

She can feel the heat of desire creep up her neck under his scrutiny, the terrible feeling of betrayal as her body reacts to his proximity. By the Gods, she really tries to fight it. She does. Bulma doesn’t understand what’s happening, why this monster of a man can make her feel like this. All he’s ever done is taken from her and, yet the memory of him kissing her tears away and soothing her aches makes her squirm. She tries to squeeze her legs together in an attempt to ease the pressure, only to be reminded that his muscled leg is still forced between hers. 

At the realization, she freezes. Panicked blue eyes find his gaze and, his voice is dark and dominant when he responds when he lets her know that he _ knows _. 

“That’s what I thought”. 

The Prince lets go of her hair with more force than necessary before he spins on his heels to leave. Bulma stumbles at the intensity of their separation, anger boiling thick in her stomach, but before she can seethe a reply at his cold words she finds his eyes. 

They are dark and strict. His posture expectant as he looks at her from over his shoulder and Bulma swallows her biting reply. 

Not a word is spoken as she follows him down the winding hallways of the palace. His back is unyielding, his chin high as they pass his subjects and servants. Saiyans bowing their heads at him in passing while servants sink to polished floors. Bulma watches the flame of his hair, focuses on her breathing, reminding herself that attacking him or acting out will only cause her punishment. She fears to even imagine what atrocities would have done to her should she try to attack him so publicly. 

When they enter a large round room with floor to ceiling windows her stomach sinks with the realization that today _ she _ will be the one committing atrocities. The large room spans two stories and from the gallery, she is looking down at dozens of females. 

Descending the staircase behind Vegeta her palms begin to sweat as the whispers of the room fall quiet. All eyes are on him, and with the snap of his fingers, the women form three neat rows. Panic is rising in her chest like the swelling sound of war drums. _ No. No. No. _

The silence of the room is almost deafening as the gaze of the Prince finds her eyes. His expression is calm, but his eyes hold a challenge. 

If she defies him now she knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that he will kill her. Right here. Right now. 

If she does whatever he demands of her next she will kill a piece of herself. She will bend to his will. She will have to accept her station in this life. 

Rage and anguish boil in her stomach. She won’t die on this forsaken planet, but she will also not compromise herself for him. Tears sting her eyes as her lower lip threatens to tremble and, Vegeta steps close to her, crossing his arms behind his back in the process. 

Her vision swims with tears that she refuses to let fall and, Bulma stares definitely into his endless eyes as he invades her personal space. Close enough for his breath to ghost over her face. Vegetas gaze is absolute and irrevocable as he stares her down the length of his nose. Always a rebel she breakers the silence first, voice laced with accusation barely above a whisper. 

“Take and destroy - that is _ all _ you can do”. 

His lips pull into a smirk as arrogance settles over his face as if he is holding all the cards. As if he has anticipated her next move and she just played right into his hand. The dread she feels is overpowering, it makes her stomach hurt and her head spin. When his eyes travel over her face they are unhurried, leisurely as if he’s deciding whether or not to let her in on whatever is so goddamn amusing in his mind. 

He leans in close, so close that for a terrifying moment Bulma thinks he will kiss her, but then he breathes against her lips. 

“I give and create too”. 

She can feel the crease in her brow before confusion immerses her system for the most fleeting of instants. The meaning of his words hits her with more force than the recoil of a plasma gun as she watches his dark eyes lower. Watches thick black lashes ghosting against the tan skin of his cheeks as his gaze settles on her stomach for a fleeting second. Just long enough for her to _ understand _. 

Suddenly _everything _makes sense. Her restlessness, her short fuse. The disgustingly overwhelming calm she feels whenever her is near her. 

He. _The father of her child._

His eyes are locked back on her face before the rational part of her brain has had a chance to fully process the cold wave of reality, and she watches him watch her as she understands. Sees his reactions as recognition and terror crash over her own features with a force threatening to drown her. 

The Prince doesn’t give her any chance to catch herself, to adjust to the weight of the news he has just dropped on her, instead he takes a step back. The heat of his skin withdrawing, leaving her cold and shivering and she blinks rapidly, trying to fight the feeling of her throat closing, depriving her of oxygen. 

“Pick 10”. 

There is no room to argue in his voice. He is _ commanding _ her. For a moment she wants to scream and fight and rally - but then she realizes it’s no longer just about her. 

She picks ten. She looks at each and everyone, trying to remember their faces, trying to imagine the lives they lived before being brought here, trying to convey with her eyes how very _ sorry _ she is. All the while Vegeta regards her, sauntering between the lines of women as if this is just another business transaction. 

Ten young females for Vegetas best generals. Ten lives to be used and treated however they saw fit. A reward for battles fought, for the kingdom well served. 

With each fate she seals Bulma feels the pit in her stomach festering. When they are finally alone in one of the rooms of his chambers she _ rages _. She screams and yells and throws. Anything and everything she gets her hands on becomes a weapon, she takes and destroys till she is shaking with sobs so violent she can barely breathe. 

The worst part is the Prince doesn’t react. Doesn’t fight back, doesn’t take control of the situation, doesn't punish her. Instead, like the predator he is, he waits till she is gasping for air, face hot with tears and limbs trembling. He waits till she is a crushed spirit to wrap around her, mouth at her neck while his palms encircle her wrists. 

As her back settles against a plush sofa she feels him sink against her fully. Mouth traveling from her neck to her cheeks as she cries more tears at her body betraying her. At the sense of calm returning, at the edge disappearing, at the pain inside her dulling to a low throb. Her body reacting to him in the most shameful way possible after all that he’s done to her. 

His lips are soft against her own, they are everywhere, on her cheeks, the bridge over her nose, the crease of her brows, and the palms of his hand against her cheeks drain the last drops of resistance from her exhausted body. For a long moment, everything is quiet and Bulma opens her eyes to look at him, only to find him already watching her. Forehead resting against her own as if he had been waiting for her to look at him. His legs nudge apart her own and as she whimpers, he shushes her. The voice of faux sympathy makes her brain melt and her body surrender, while his words sting like a whip.

“It’s cute that you thought you ever had a choice”. 

* * *

_Well. Fuck._

_More or end it here?_

_See you in the comments? 😁 _


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just adding to this crack fic. All the triggers warnings as usual because it's not getting any better.  
Please excuse any typos - written on my phone without a beta reading session.

* * *

Her hands are shaking from the adrenaline pumping through her system, pulse-pounding in her ears as her fingers hover over the keyboard, eyes scrutinizing the code on the screen. It's a mere stream of luck that she has gained access to a computing device connected to the kingdom's mainframe. Her brain feels sluggish, she hasn't written code in the years since her capture, her enslavement, but she is positive that this will work. It will erase all traces of her in the system, it will override the stations at the pod launch just long enough to allow her to finally escape. She will be able to walk in, key in her made-up access code, and launch.

Off this planet. Away from this misery and pain. Away from  _ him _ .

Her stomach churns at the thought. Bulma hasn't seen the Crown Prince since he made her pick, since he fucker her after as if he was doing her a favor, as if he was putting her back together, as if he accepted her despite the horrible thing he made her do. 

Her pregnancy is not that far along yet, just enough to fill the palm of a hand - a hand much larger than her own. Biting her lip she shakes her head. Trying desperately to dispel these feelings that keep bubbling in her ever since she found out she's having his child. It makes her crave him, her body aching for his presence in a horrible way that makes her sob in the dark hours of the night, because it should  _ not  _ be this way. Bulma is sure that it's the Ki. The unshakable connection the unborn child has to its powerful father, seeking its steady hum over her own much weaker one. 

Eyes squinting she focuses back on the screen. One final check before she hits enter. Before she can leave this place. Before she will be free. Before she will have to deal with what it means to be removed from the one being her body throbs for. 

It's her lizard brain that catches on first. That makes her fingers freeze mid-air as she is about to hit enter. Air burns in her lungs as the breath ghosting across the nape of her neck registers in her prefrontal cortex and derails her plan of freedom. 

The journey back through the palace feels like a death sentence and the blue head sobs despite her best efforts. The guard carrying her is unimpressed, moving steadily to his target - no doubt delivering her to another round of punishment and shame in which her body betrays her. 

The destination is a room she has never been to before, but as a servant gets her seated in a thick plush chair, right across the stretch from a massive bed her suspicions are confirmed. It's when the throbbing in her body intensifies that Bulma instinctively knows he's close. The terrible feeling of peace spreads in her stomach as her brain counters her hormones with despair. Frantic to distract herself blue orbs trace the pattern of the sun across the polished floors, watching the tiny specks of dust dance in the warming rays until a door clicks and her system floods with a need that makes her squirm. 

_ Fuck Saiyan biology. _

His feet are bare when they appear in her line of vision, stopping a few feet from her, but it's his silence that ultimately makes her lift her head as it hangs between them thick and ominous. The Prince is only wearing pants of his suit, clearly, her attempt for freedom has disrupted him from something. 

"Playing games today?"

To Bulma's surprise, his voice is light and teasing, though his eyes hold no humor. The steel in her spine is back almost on instinct, making her sit straighter in the oversized chair, willing her mind in control of her body that rages like an out-of-control Saiyan in heat. Vegeta clears the distance between them in two short strides, his hand cubbing her jaw as he tilts her head, studying her features as the muscles in her jaw flex fighting biology for composure. 

A moment later Bulma is glad his hand is cupping her jaw, preventing it from falling open as the Saiyan heir to the throne surprises her again, sinking to his knees in front of her, positioning himself between her legs. Large rough palms run over her tighs, mapping the fabric as if they were lovers before arriving at her hips and roughly jerking her behind to the edge of her seat. The scientist bites her lips to suppress the startled gasp, instead, she focuses on his eyes challenging him with her own blue orbs as the body softens to his touch. Muscles relax against her will as the Ki she carries lulls into the submission, his gaze his hypnotic and her heart betrays her as his hand's ghost over the inside of her thigh.

He rises, leaning into her personal space, lips ghosting over hers, while his hand strays further upward between her legs, the heat from his skin seeping through the material of her worker's uniform. Vegeta hums low in his throat as his fingers find their covered target, introducing a small flicker of Ki, and her body instantly reacts.  _ Betraying her.  _ Bulma's breath shudders as the first tears of despair gather in her eyes.

His voice is a hum, almost thoughtful as whispers against her lips, "you are in luck, I'm in the mood to play today", a spike in Ki emphasizing his statement before he pulls away.

The smirk that grazes his lips for the fraction of a blink makes dread creep up her neck and then she watches as his mood pivots and fear starts to settle into her bones. 

A snap of a finger later a servant is by her side, just right behind her chair, and his orders are clear - she moves or stops watching and the girl is dead. The sizzling ball of energy at the tip of his finger doesn't lessen the bile that threatens to rise in her throat when Vegeta makes her acknowledge his command with a "Yes your highness". 

What follows is a horror Bulma is not prepared for. Her clever mind had predicted screaming and pain, the consequences of her actions afflicted onto someone else- anything but  _ this. _

The woman disrobing him is gorgeous. Her dark hair is long and silky as it flows through the Prince's hands, as he cups her cheek and kisses her like a drowning man. Like a man capable of more than coercion and pain. His movements are soft, following her curves, molding her to him before playfully tossing her on the bed. Chuckling at her squeal of excitement before grasping her ankle, dragging her to the edge of the bed, and burying his head between her legs. 

Bulma watches with horror as the woman's fingers tangle in his hair, as her toes curl, and her back arches. She fights the unexpected painful wound of betrayal of hurt and anger and  _ jealousy  _ that this stranger gets this version of Vegeta.  _ The father of her child!  _ At the same time anger festers and boils in her stomach, hate swirling dark and rancid as she  _ knows  _ he is playing with her hormones - fully aware of the possessive and needy nature carrying a saiyan child induces. Her eyes sting with tears she is refusing to let fall, fingers digging into the fabric of the seat as the women's pleasure peaks, and her own body throbs at the need to feel the same satisfaction by his hands. 

Hands that usually only restrain and torture her, that never caress or pet without any ulterior motive, without using her for his twisted entertainment. It only gets worse as the nameless females go to return the favor - lips wrapping around the very cock that makes Bulma feel like falling apart. Her eyes are mesmerized by his head thrown back in the pillows, strong jaw exposed as Vegeta is moaning through clenched teeth, despite the ache in her chest Bulma can't look away, can't help from her breathing getting more desperate. 

Tongue darting over her own dry lips as Vegeta pulls the female's mouth away, cock glistening with moisture as he rolls them over, settling between her legs before finding haven as his mouth slants against hers. It's like been electrocuted, her body all but shaking in a mix of desperate need and boiling hate-fueled jealousy, tears are streaking down her cheeks when Vegeta moans in bliss and she has to bite her lip in order to stop herself from begging him to stop. 

She doesn't want any of this. Not the restlessness she feels when he is away, not the peace that pulls at her when he is near, not the throbbing of her body to have him close, not the desperate need, not this raging unfounded jealousy for a man that has done nothing but  _ used  _ her. 

The broken moan when he empties himself is enough to make her whimper, her body wound as tight as a coil, all but vibrating, gravitating towards him as her brain struggles for dominance in the flood of hormones that enslave her more effectively than the Saiyan rule ever could. 

There is a long moment during which they are both panting, sharing a few words in a language she doesn't know, and as Vegeta shakes with a soft chuckle Bulma fights the part of her that would do  _ anything _ to be in  _ her _ position. Her throat seems impossibly tight, as if she will never be able to swallow properly again, and as Vegeta comes to stand before her after the female takes her leave all Bulma feels is crying in fatigue. 

His palm is soft against her cheek as her cradles her face and presses his lips to her forehead, soothing her as she loses the fight with herself. 

"Say thank you" he tips her head slightly to meet his face as he leans forward to be closer, her brows furrow as her brain scrambles over what she just witnessed, over what he is demanding her to do. She had watched as the Prince of all Saiyans played with her, learned that she ached for him to touch her like  _ that -  _ she is  _ not _ going to thank him for that.

At her silence he only hums, thumbs wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes and Bulma wants to shudder at the way she can't help but leap at his attention, his soft facade of corrupt affection. At her continued silence his hand slides to the nape of her neck, first stroking her hair before gripping tighter, his eyebrows rising expectantly at her. Bulma knows what he wants, by the gods she does, and it's so easy, two little words, just two, and she knows his grip will loosen again, his touch will be closer to  _ that  _ again. 

Defiance twists up her spine just as he sets his forehead against her own, his nose brushing hers, the Ki in her stomach immediately responding to his proximity, calmness pulling at her bones as her lips quiver and she quakes in defeat. 

"Thank you".

* * *

_See you in the comments :)_

_& as always thank you for reading._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucked up as usual.  
Milder than my previous chapters - needed to throw a minor bit of plot in there to move along.

* * *

The tumbling of her own heart and the burning of her lungs as she tries to take measured calm breaths are the only things Bulma can perceive. It's the middle of the day and she's still wearing her worker's garments which are growing tight around her midsection. She feels him before she sees him, before she hears him even, that familiar humming of Ki in her belly that falls in rhythm with his own announces him before her senses have caught up. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he's pissed, they all heard the notorious throw-down that took place between him and his father mere minutes ago. Bulma is silently impressed by the coordinated effort of his servants that have managed to assemble them all here in such a short time. 

_ Here _ . In one long orderly row along the final hallway to his chambers. 

Movement from the corner of her eye alerts her that he is imminent, but she doesn't dare to turn her head. Doesn't dare to endanger the  _ two _ of them. The instructions had been  _ very  _ clear. Stand still, look ahead and shut up. 

Flanked by two females with bio-luminescent soft lavender skin she feels somewhat secure that at least her coloring doesn't stand out too much. The air positively hums with the vibrations of his Ki as he strides past her, heat washing over her skin like a dark storm, dark eyes stay trained ahead, and before she can blink the moment is over. 

His steps have taken him past her, his arm now outstretched as he grabs a female with alluring pink skin by the back of her neck, dragging her out of the lineup and pushing her towards the doors of his chambers without slowing his stride. The alien creature rights herself with more grace than Bulma could have mustered and walks ahead to hold the doors open for him. The whisper of relief that curses through the group of women is enough to make anger boil in her veins - as if they just survived their own possible execution. It is with sobering clarity that she realizes a few seconds later that perhaps this is what it was - Vegeta was strong and incredibly vile when he was angry. His temper legendary. 

It was like a magnetic pull, and despite the clear order to look straight ahead, despite the horrible realization of what might happen to the other woman, her gaze draws towards the heavy doors that mark the entrance to his chambers. His muscled frame passes the threshold and Vegeta turns, their eyes meeting across the stretch of the hall and for a brief moment, it is just them. His gaze pulling her under, holding her there, mesmerizing her, drowning her in a sea of black while setting her nerves on fire, the Ki in her stomach pulsing like the steady rhythm of a heart. 

The spell is broken as the doors slide closed, dark eyes sparing the most fleeting of looks to the headmaster who had assembled them here.

That is how she ended up here. Dressed in fine silks, skin as smooth as still water in the rising morning, glowing from expensive oils and soaps. Heart in her throat from what might await her on the other side of the doors. It had been a few hours since the explosive fight since Vegetas's harsh handling of the female and judging by the air of relief that had washed over the remaining female's nothing good had transpired on the other side of the threshold she was now to cross.

Frustration churning low in her stomach of how little she was told. One moment she was readying to leave with the reaming women the next she had been pulled aside by the headmaster, been washed and dressed like she had been before when Vegeta dressed her like a fancy toy that amused him greatly. Her questions of what was happening, of what was expected of her went unanswered as servants readied her. As they braided her hair, massaged oil into her skin, adjusted the expensive pieces of flowing fabric to her frame. In another life Bulma, much more innocent and naive than this, would have swooned at the luxuries, at the way in which the dress flowed around her curves, highlighting her approaching motherhood. But in this life, the casual way in which it dismisses her personhood makes her throat constrict and teeth grind.

The first step is the hardest. Over the threshold into the unknown as her hand comes to rest on her stomach – she will have to be strong for the both of them. As it turns out nobody needs to tell her where to go, the magnetic pull is back, tugging her into Vegetas chambers until she finds herself entering the sprawling bedroom. Servants are just leaving the chamber, having placed fresh fruits and water on a nearby table and opened the expansive floor-to-ceiling doors allowing the soft curtains to dance in the breeze, revealing glimpses of a magnificent garden. 

Bulma isn't sure what she expected, perhaps blood and gore, or a hysterical and battered female chained to his bed - not this picture of pampered tranquility. A step change from his vicious mood earlier.

It’s the first time they are alone since he has punished her, since he made her watch him take pleasure with another woman and thank him - the memory alone makes her hands curl into angry fists. The heir to the Saiyan Crown, reclined in bed among opulent pillows and plush blankets doesn’t seem to mind her raging emotions. His features are relaxed his hair slightly mused as he lazy lifts his hand to spin his wrists, indicating for her to twirl for him. 

_ She's not a fucking doll. _

Bulma grinds her teeth and lifts her chin, unable to stop the shriek of surprise when with a gust of air he grabs her chin between his fingers and tilts her head. Dark eyes dancing with amusement, gone is the violent air from just a few hours ago, the murderous intent, the rough handling of those below him.

"Always so stubborn", his thumb rubs soothingly against her bottom lips, his voice deceptively soft, "what do you want then?".

The question catches her off guard, derails her inner thoughts of anger that she is gripping like her lifeline in order to not drown in his gaze, the pulsing of the child's Ki back in full force. The knuckles of his free hand softly skim against the skin of her belly growing his baby and she is unprepared for the emotions that slam into her like a freight train. 

Tears well up in her eyes no matter how hard she tries to fight them, his hand traveling from her chin to cradles her cheek as soft lips kiss the salty trails away, all the while his knuckles keep stroking over her midsection. Even without Ki, she can feel the hum, the soft vibration that is so in tune with his.

"I want to go home" it's a desperately broken sob and she hates herself for it. Hates herself for being so vulnerable in front of a man that is playing her so expertly, who cares not about her well-being but only his amusement. Bulma is not sure what she expected but it wasn't for his tail to wind around her thigh, for his lips to press softly to her brow, for Vegeta to hum low as if he were truly contemplating. 

It's the softness of his kisses, the false sense of security and acceptance that wears her down till she is crying, bowing her head against his chest and bathing in despair at the happiness his hand against her growing stomach brings. Bulma is not sure how, but they end up on his bed, his powerful frame wrapping around her from behind, his leg between hers, lips pressing to the soft spot behind her ear as she fights for composure against the remainder of her tears.

The arm below her wraps up towards her face, his strong forearm resting between the valley of her breast, elbow point toward her navel, as his palm wraps around her throat. His hold isn't painfully tight, but for a moment she struggles nonetheless, it's the familiar shush sound he makes that shatters her, the low whisper of his voice against the shell of her ear in false care and sympathy.

"Don't", and she seizes her squirming, his hand giving a soft squeeze against her throat as he hums in a tone so sincere it makes her question reality, "I would  _ never  _ ever hurt you".

Her body soars at his proximity, at his lips, at the false promise, while her mind replays the memories of him holding her down in the middle of his heat, of his weight against her back, of all their encounters during which he enforces his dominance, during which he hurt her in the most horrible ways she enjoyed so much.

The hand around her throat forces her head back, back arching as her rear presses more firmly into him, giving him greater access as he slides against her opening, laying kisses against her jaw. The position so intimate that a terribly greedy and jealous part of her robs Bulma of all the fight - she is getting to be close to him. Really really close - closer than  _ she  _ was. With soft kisses and gentle touches, his tail supports to lift her leg and his free hand splays low against her belly. 

The Prince groans sliding into her, pulling her frame tighter, "Tell me about  _ home". _

Defenses lowered in a heated cocktail of hormones and emotions she does. Bulma tells him about earth. About her desire to go home. About the life, she used to have. Every word accompanied by the slide of Vegeta into her, the slide of his skin against the life inside of her.

In the end, she doesn't know if she is sobbing because she is homesick or because the heir to the Crown is working her expertly through orgasm after orgasm till she is all but floating, shaking, and gasping for air in his tight grip.

As he empties himself with a low growl his lips against the back of her neck are searing and, Bulma so emotionally and physically exhausted that she doesn't fight the ugly feeling of contentment gripping at her sleepy senses. 

* * *

_What do you think happened? _

_Has Vegeta changed his mind about Bulma? Or is he plotting something dark and deceiving her?_


End file.
